


Ten Dances

by JoRaskoph



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Community: HPFT, Everyone is different but still the same, F/F, Genius Harry, Ginny risks it all, Hogwarts Academy of Scotland, Madame Pudifoot's Dance School, Mrs. Zabini's Agency, Secret Plans, bitter Lavender, dance, marrying into money, scarred Lavender, secrecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoRaskoph/pseuds/JoRaskoph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is true love, anyways? Even if it existed, it appears to be more bother than it’s worth so Ginny Weasley sets out to find security instead. </p><p>non-magical AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The End

_photography by Barry Goyette_

* * *

P R O L O G U E : **The End**  
  
  
  
  
  
Long, pale pink fingernails were tapping a hectic rhythm against a battered looking pack of cigarettes; clicking like the impatient claws of a crab on its hunt for tiny sea-creatures. The young woman to whom they belonged—while visually nothing like the crustacea in plate armour—was indeed pursuing a similarly predatory goal. In fact, the nervous tapping was most certainly due to a life-changing decision she had recently made and was now about to carry out.   
  
  
  
Lavender Brown sighed, obviously not impressed by potentially life-changing plans and the inevitable nervousness that came with them. She had, after all, experienced quite a bit of life-changing in her time—the scars on her face were testament to that. Contrary to popular belief, life-changing was hardly ever a pleasant thing. Barely a year older than the woman sitting opposite her on the small café table, Lavender felt ancient when confronted with this sort of excited hopefulness.  
  
  
  
Pushing away bitter thoughts, she continued her assessment of the applicant: She had a pretty face of course, otherwise she wouldn’t have been sitting here now. But that alone was not going to get her anywhere. Good body, and her posture was decent enough; even though she had her arms crossed and her elbows on the table—still tapping.  
  
  
  
"Can you not stop that for a second?!“   
  
  
  
The tapping promptly stopped when the woman jumped ever so slightly and brown eyes came up to Lavender’s face: "Excuse me, _Ma’m_. I didn’t realise what I was doing.“  
  
  
  
Lavender did a quick double-take and chuckled, when for the first time during the meeting her searching eyes were met by a hesitant half-smile. A joke in this situation—the girl was stronger than she looked. Maybe she would actually stand a chance.  
  
  
  
Subtly adjusting her posture and minimally inclining her head, Lavender signalled the other that she had passed her inspection for now. It would be interesting to see how this one would turn out, she decided.  
  
  
  
"Oh, it is quite alright. But I do hope you are not a smoker?“, she asked, gesturing towards the—now silent—pack of cigarettes.  
  
  
  
"Yes. I mean no! … I mean, I stopped.“ At Lavender’s raised eyebrow the girl took a deep breath and flashed an apologetic smile. „I know I’m not supposed to. This is the last pack I had.“ To prove her point she opened and closed the pack and Lavender could see that it, indeed, was empty. "I keep it around for good luck.“  
  
  
  
To stop herself from rolling her eyes at such naiveté, Lavender quickly leafed through the papers in front of her until she found the one she wanted. "It says here that you graduated from Hogwarts Academy of Scotland?“  
  
  
  
Looking up only long enough to see the confirmative nod, she carried on with the much more interesting part of her question. This next answer could certainly change a life and both of them knew it. "That is an impressive education. I take it you were attending through their scholarship programme?“  
  
  
  
This time she observed much more closely and was surprisingly satisfied with what she saw: A slight shuffling of feet; an almost imperceivable flush to the cheeks but otherwise no outward indication of dishonesty as the other woman evenly returned her look with an open expression and said:  
  
  
  
"Yes, I am very grateful to have been admitted. The academic expectations at Hogwarts are exceptionally demanding.“ It was—naturally—a lie, but a believable one, delivered with just the right amount of truth. Lavender leaned back in her chair and allowed a real smile to spread on her face. Strategic downplaying of personal achievements in order to gain an advantage—a tactic that required skill and strong character to apply successfully—was very much to her taste.   
  
  
  
"I see you are serious about this arrangement?“, the question was a formality more than anything else. There was, after all, no one who would come to see her in this manner if they were not absolutely serious. But she so rarely met an applicant who actually met her requirements that she posed it out of politeness, a token of respect if there ever was one.  
  
  
  
"Yes, Ma’m. I am determined to do whatever it takes“, now that she had been accepted, the young woman was obviously more relaxed. Any inclination to constantly tap or twitch had disappeared and the way she held herself was almost proud.  
  
  
  
"You seem very sure of yourself. Do you realise that this path you have chosen is a very difficult one?“ When the other continued to return her look without making any attempt at answering, Lavender reluctantly added: „You may speak freely.“  
  
  
  
"With all due respect, Lady Brown, what I am sure about is my ability to work very hard for what I want. You know that I’ve had to work very hard to get into Hogwarts, and the scholarship programme allowed me to attend the academy, but it could never make me equal. What I want is not charity, I want security.“ During her speech, the woman had not once hesitated. The words were obviously familiar to her. Still looking straight at Lavender, she added: "I will do whatever it takes.“  
  
  
  
"You are aware of the terms of this transaction?“  
  
  
  
With a bewildered look in her eyes, the younger woman nodded her confirmation.  
  
  
  
"Then sign here, please.“  
  
  
  
Most likely she was surprised by the briefness of their conversation, but Lavender had seen what she needed. To the scraping of pen on paper, she motioned for the waiter who had been hovering outside earshot and was shortly presented with two glasses of champagne.   
  
  
  
The man was _winking_ at her. While she did not appreciate the show of familiarity, she understood what he was thinking. After having been dutifully observing this procedure twenty-three times and this was the first instance he had had to actually serve the celebratory drinks.   
  
  
  
He didn’t know yet that this would be the last time he ever saw the posh Lady conduct one of her interviews. Naturally she’d have to select another location from now on—she couldn’t allow anyone to make a connection between the women she chose.  
  
  
  
Still smiling, Lavender lifted her glass and toasted across the table: "To the upcoming end of your bachelorhood, Miss. Weasley! Congratulations.“


	2. Paso Doble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a sticky summer day lies are told to friends, smiles given to strangers and a new challenge is discovered.

 

_photography by Barry Goyette_

* * *

C H A P T E R   1 : **Paso Doble**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was one of the few truly hot London summer days and the air hung over the tall buildings of the city like a sticky duvet. Under its cover life went on, but it was just ever so slightly delayed, out of step.   
  
  
  
The post girl was sweating dark stains on her tank top and while she struggled to drag her trolley over the sidewalk the men in front of the bakery were so busy complaining about the heat they forgot to comment on the way the fabric clung to her body.  
  
  
  
Twenty storeys above their heads lazy sunlight was filtering through half-closed blends and painting bright stripes  on a darkened apartment where stacks of cardboard boxes and covered furniture enjoyed the possibly slimming benefit of a new appearance. In the middle of this monochromatic pattern of light and dark, ignorant of the day happening outside, lay a sleeping woman, her limbs splayed around just like like they had landed when she collapsed on the bed, last night’s clothes abandoned in a loveless heap on the floor. Tiny drops of perspiration had collected on the fine hairs of her upper lip and a few red curls were moving softly to the rhythm of barely audible snores.   
  
  
  
Ginny Weasley was sleeping the deep, exhausted sleep of those who ruthlessly pursue their dreams … until the quiet was broken rather abruptly by the cheerful ringing of a phone.   
  
  
  
Stumbling out of bed with her eyes half closed and bare feet tapping into the general direction of the offensive sound, Ginny only woke up properly when her naked shin painfully connected with a designer chair.  
  
  
  
A few loud curses and frantic scrambling in boxes later she found the phone in a box labeled "tolerable", between one of her plants and a bundle of pyjamas in a coffee cup with a grumpy face on it. The display read _Hermione W._ and she heaved a sigh. Keeping secrets was one of the costs she had resigned herself to pay, but before coffee had never been her best time, and of all her nosy relatives this was certainly the one least likely to be satisfied with vague answers.  
  
  
  
However, knowing her sister-in-law, postponing the inevitable definitely would not help so Ginny put the phone on loudspeaker, took the cup, and went about making coffee.   
  
  
  
"Finally! I was starting to fear you were avoiding me."  
  
  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes; Hermione was a wonderful friend but sometimes her need to look out for everyone was getting  a little out of hand. "We talked yesterday!"  
  
  
  
"But only _accidentally_! And I got a feeling you were trying to get away…"  
  
  
  
In fact, Ginny _had_ been trying to cut short their unexpected reunion in the middle of a sidewalk. "I told you I was running late", that much was true. "Some people do have jobs, remember?" True as well, but also totally irrelevant.  
  
  
  
"You know very well that I have a job!", Hermione’s indignant voice sounded even higher over the phone. Doubts about her work ethic always had her up in arms in no time and with a weak smile on her face Ginny settled back on the bed, grateful for the easy diversion.  
  
  
  
"It doesn’t count if you are your own boss … How’s wonder-boy, by the way?" Hermione and Ginny’s brother had founded their own company when they were still in school, together with a prodigy class mate who was supposedly going to cure cancer or save the world or something equally improbable.  
  
  
  
"Harry’s fine but you really shouldn’t call him that! He’s buried in work, of course—we all are! He’ll be at dinner on Sunday, so you can ask him yourself if you’re there for a change."  
  
  
  
Ginny winced at the accusing undertone. For months she had been working towards securing the interview, even missing Sunday family dinners when one of her sources came up with new information that had to be pursued right away, and it was even more difficult to make time now that she had finally succeeded.  
  
  
  
"I’ll try, okay? This new customer is really demanding …" she trailed off, reluctant to invent more details about a big deal at a marketing job she didn’t have.   
  
  
  
Exhaustion and honest discomfort were evident in her voice and in an unexpected show of sympathy Hermione let the topic go. They said their goodbyes after a few minutes of inconsequential chatter—it was hard to talk properly when the unsaid hung between them like white noise on the line.  
  
  
  
The sudden silence left Ginny feeling very small in the middle of this brand new apartment filled with boxes of things that didn’t have anything to do with her.  
  
  
  
The weeks since the interview _had_ been a fury of action, this much was true. Lavender had insisted on starting right away, claiming that each day wasted could possibly be ruining her plans in the end when it would be a day’s worth of unpreparedness.   
  
  
  
A weak smile braved the sharp the corner of her worried mouth when Ginny thought of the way Lavender approached gold digging as if it were a potentially fatal art form. This was exactly why she had been so desperate to make the deal with Mrs. Zabini’s agency—if she was going to do this, she could not be anything than perfectly professional.  
  
  
  
Lavender had already proven to be everything she could have hoped for, directing Ginny’s investments as effectively as any stock-market expert. She’d methodically drawn up lists of possible assets, evaluating costs in relation to maximum benefit and also decrease in value over time; strictly vetoing any purchases that didn’t meet her requirements. Thanks to her, Ginny now called a small fortune in exquisite clothing, temporary art and designer furniture her own—all of which she should be able to resell at minimal loss, if the worst should happen.  
  
  
  
It was also Lavender’s influence that had late afternoon find Ginny, feeling painfully out of place, in one of the polished practice rooms of Madame Pudifoot’s, London’s most exclusive dance studio. Ginny had initially tried to protest the outrageously high entrance fee, but apparently better posture and some twirling moves were worth more than half of her budget.  
  
  
  
"You will see it pays off", Lavender had told her decidedly and Ginny had believed her.  
  
  
  
Now, however, with beads of sweat running down the back of her dress and a wall of sparkling mirrors throwing all of her inadequacies back multiplied, she was starting to doubt her mentor’s wisdom. Even in this beginners’ class the other students moved with practiced ease while Ginny seemed to constantly be falling over her own feet.  
  
****  
  
"… but rather than bounce _up_ , you move _forward_ and over your knee. Notice how the torso doesn’t move up or down at all? This is a speedy dance, 48 beats per minute is a lot, and to get it right … Yes, Miss Lovegood?"  
  
  
  
With a disapproving frown the instructor interrupted her lecture to address a peculiarly dressed blonde standing a small distance away from the other students whose attention was not focused on the demonstration at all. Apparently deep in thought, the woman was absently fingering a strand of her hair and did not react to being addressed directly.   
  
  
  
"Miss Lovegood?! Would you please share with the group what is so very interesting over there?"  
  
  
  
The blonde woman turned around, entirely relaxed and seemingly unaffected from being singled out in front of everyone. When she answered, her voice sounded far too cheerful: „Oh, I was just admiring these Agapanthus you have here, Madame. They are really beautiful and add so much to the Qi of this place.“ The instructor, who had already started to open her mouth in response closed it again and blinked, then blinked again.  
  
  
  
"You mean the Lilies?!" Ginny decided that she really liked the blonde woman, when Miss Lovegood’s serious nod caused Madame Pudifoot to shudder, as if confronted with an exceptionally disgusting bug. "You know what, never mind. Would you be so kind as to demonstrate your technique to us?"—since the first strategy for putting her student in her place had failed, a detailed practical examination seemed to be the method of choice now.  
  
  
  
Fascinated by the strange rules of this place, Ginny watched as Miss Lovegood obligingly stepped forward and took the place of the female dancer, still looking perfectly content and at ease.   
  
  
  
Ginny observed how she placed her left hand lightly on her partner’s shoulder and took a few seconds to assume her position—stretching her back and turning her head to the left. The otherwise so demanding Miss didn’t seem to object and waited patiently before motioning for the music to be started. Apparently this kind of deliberation was tolerated, expected even.  
  
  
  
The actual demonstration continued, and while Ginny tried to take note of the little details, she soon found herself at a loss. She just didn’t know enough about dancing to determine what was good—up until today she would have assumed that _everyone_ moved above their knees when walking. Her personal assessment pretty much amounted to the conclusion that Miss Lovegood was a fairly experienced dancer, because she knew when to turn which way, and as far as Ginny could see did not step onto her partner’s feet.  
  
  
  
Madame Pudifoot however, did not look pleased when she interrupted the dance after only a minute. "Can anyone tell me how we step forward in standard ballroom dancing? … No one?" After pinning each of her students in turn with an accusing look, the Madame carried on with grim satisfaction: "Well this is most disappointing! Miss Lovegood, you can go back now but please note that I expect my students to pay better attention to lectures—especially if they still make the most basic mistakes."   
  
  
  
The icy dismissal had Ginny fervently wishing that she would never be asked to demonstrate in front of everyone—Miss Lovegood’s dance had looked absolutely fine to her!  
  
  
  
The instructor turned away from the group to address a dark-skinned dancer who was stretching by the grand piano. "Now, Pansy, could you please explain the _basic_ _forward step_ to my hapless students?"  
  
  
  
In one fluid movement _Pansy_ got up from the floor and Ginny felt familiar resentment rise like bile in her throat. She knew this face, had seen it smirking countless times from the other side of the assembly hall, always happy and always surrounded by a cloud of adoring followers. Pansy Parkinson, her lineage and fortune making her stand out even among the privileged kids of Hogwarts Academy, had been impossible not to know.  
  
  
  
Voice sweet and posture immaculate Pansy obligingly addressed the group: "The basic forward step in standard dancing is rolled from heel to toe, unlike a backwards step which you will automatically start on your toes." At the end of her explanation she looked questioningly at the Madame; much like a puppy expecting a goodie for performing a simple trick.  
  
  
  
And Madame Pudifoot did actually accept the less than useless answer with an approving nod. "Exactly. Now a short demonstration, if you will?"  
  
  
  
When Pansy performed the steps, Ginny was reluctant to admit the obvious, even in the privacy of her own mind. While Miss Lovegood’s dancing had looked good, it had been worlds away from this.   
  
  
  
Pansy and her partner moved together with a controlled elegance, like one body rather than two. The way the woman held herself; extremely affected but also strangely entrancing. Her steps were placed with confidence and Ginny got a feeling that she had—yet again—ended up on the outside of a secret shared only by a select few. Rolling your forward steps from the heel was obviously not what made this kind-of-looping walking look so very fascinating.  
  
  
  
When the music stopped, the instructor clapped in appreciation and the students joined in hurriedly. "Charming as always, Pansy dear.  I know my students are in able hands with you so I’ll leave them to you now."  
  
  
  
And so, while somewhere else in the restless city the post girl was greeted by her excited daughter hugging her legs, a red headed-woman studying a dark-haired woman made yet another promise to herself.


End file.
